


Unsurprisingly, Thrill Rides Prove to be Metaphors for Life

by r_lee



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, to be young. Forever. And in love. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsurprisingly, Thrill Rides Prove to be Metaphors for Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Araine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araine/gifts).



**Coney Island, New York, 1932**

"Hey, Isaac?" The sound of Miria's voice screaming by on that bastion of Coney Island ingenuity, the Cyclone, gives pause for attention. So does the echoing "What's that, Miria, my dear?" when the carts zip by overhead, the wooden frame creaking and bending under their speed and weight. Looking up, Ennis eyes the structure critically.

"That's supposed to be fun." Her words aren't phrased in the form of a question but Firo's more than used to that now. There's a delicate and delicious sort of beauty to her hesitancy and sure, he knows the secret of her creation and if he really wants he can put his hand on her head and figure out anything about her, but where can the fun _possibly_ be in that? Nah, he's never been the kind of guy to want to know much about anything he doesn't want to know much of anything about, preferring to sample life one slice of the orange at a time. He has all the time in the world to do just that.

And so does Ennis.

Over by the boardwalk, Czes picks a duck out of a pond filled with murky water, turns it over, and collects his prize. It's got to be kind of awful, Firo thinks, to be stuck in a ten-year-old's body forever and ever. Then again, it's probably better than the alternative, and they can _all_ say that.

Cut to the memory of a group of New Yorkers -- loud, gregarious crowd, his home-town people -- standing around ogling the unfortunate, as so often happens. There's a woman there, immaculately dressed in a dark suit that in no way contrasts with but rather complements the green of his own. He's got a hat to match, on Maiza's insistence, and for the first time since he was a kid he feels like _really_ showing off. He bounces the hat on his arm, catches it, puts it back on his head, but the brown-haired woman in the dark suit doesn't pay him any attention at all. She's fixated on the goings-on around them, which only interest him a little bit in a half-hearted kind of way. Unfortunately, people getting sliced and diced, beat up, set on fire, what have you: that's all way too common these days. It ain't like he longs for the good old days when everything was solved with the singular shove of a shiv into unsuspecting flesh. Nah, it ain't like that at all. He's no stranger to violence, but he's always been the one in their group to have a fond and glorious appreciation for the understated and an eye for things others don't notice. It's part of what makes him invaluable to the Martillos. When the gold-plated button falls from her jacket's sleeve and arcs toward the ground, it _definitely_ catches his eye. A little on the mesmerized and distracted side he watches it, moves forward to pick it up, studies it momentarily. But when he looks up again the girl has departed, moving off into the distance, and he has to run after her, his _hey, Miss, wait_ dying on the night air as she disappears. It takes him all night to find her, but he's sure glad when he finally does. He likes her face from the get-go.

» _Addendum: I do not understand what Firo finds so fascinating about me. I was created to perform a task and I failed at that task. I should likely be destroyed, and had Szilard lived, that is exactly what would have happened. But something I couldn't control seemed to take over and when I told Firo to devour my maker, I hadn't thought through all the ramifications. Now I'm also immortal, as long as I stay with Firo. If anything should happen to me, he knows how to recreate me. I wonder. People don't treat me differently simply because of what I am. Is there a possibility for growth?_

***

 **Coney Island, New York, 1955**

"It's still not fun." Ennis turns, stone-faced, slowly shaking her head at Firo. "I don't understand why hurtling from a high spot to a low one and back up again should be considered a thrill." His hat, clenched safely in his hand, looks as if it's going to fly toward the skies, but he keeps it tucked safely. It's taken him twenty years to get Ennis to try to ride the Cyclone and lucky for him patience is in his blood. In the car in front of them, Czes wedges next to Maiza and behind them, Miria and Isaac are already screaming unnecessarily as they always do; the ride hasn't even started yet. Deep in his heart Firo almost can't believe it's taken two decades to talk her into getting on this ride, but every inch forward is an inch forward, even if she's only agreed to do it because her little (after a fashion) brother Czes lives for the thrill of it.

"C'mon, Ennis. Let loose." He knows she can't. It's not innate to her; she was designed to be still and easy and obedient and non-confrontational, but what's life without a little bit of fun? Long and boring, that's what. When the ride kicks off, Czes lets out a whoop of joy. It's contagious; Maiza's next and he can't help laughing over it himself.

"I'm so _excited,_ Isaac!" Miria's never lacking for that childlike excitement and Isaac isn't either, with his _so am I, Miria, my dear!_ Ennis is the only stone-faced one; grabbing her hand, he gives it a squeeze. _Come on, baby,_ he says in his mind. _Crack a smile. Just a little one._

She doesn't, but she endures the ride and at the end when Czes asks if she wants to ride it again, tugging at her hand just like some sort of ten-year-old, she nods impassively and agrees. But only if he'll sit with her this time.

Hey, it's a start, and he's got all the time in the world until she learns what it means to love someone (preferably him) and really start living. From the ground, he sets his hat back on his head, waves to Czes and Ennis, and smiles.

"Tough going, Firo?" It's Maiza, ever amenable, ever constant. "It must take a lot of patience."

"Nah." With a grin, Firo flips his hat and catches it on two fingers, pops it back onto his head. "When you're in love with the right girl, it's all good." She'll come around. Just the other day, he saw her smile when she didn't know he was looking and it's a memory he'll treasure forever.

Literally.

» _Addendum: It's been twenty years by the calendar. I am glad to have so many people by my side. I've taken a great deal of time in observation and humans are a remarkable species. I think I'm beginning to understand a little bit about what Maiza wanted on the Advenna Avis: to exist is a gift, and to lose that gift would be a shame. The world seems to be full of wonderment and there is always something new. I wonder what it must be like for Czeslaw, to be eternally trapped in the body of a child. We're not so different, he and I. I doubt Isaac and Miria thought through the ramifications of bringing Czes to me as a brother, but when I think of gifts, I can imagine few that would have been better or more surprising. Except perhaps the gift of Firo. He says he loves me and I wish I could honestly say the same thing back to him. Maybe some day._

***

 **Traveling Carnival, Bridgeport, CT, 1978**

There are some things he's just had to get used to over the years, and the fact that Ennis was always meant to be a driver is one of them. She's had a lot of practice now, and while the cars keep getting faster and more interesting, she still approaches the task with that same deliberate and cautious approach she had the first time he met her, way back when. It seems like forever ago, but one thing he's learned about being immortal is that he can make things seem like whatever he wants. His memory is still as sharp as ever and he figures it always will be, and some of that exuberance he had when he found out what was going on still makes him want to shout _yippee!_ at inopportune moments.

Ennis is almost used to that now. At least she doesn't look at him like he's got four eyes and sixteen fingers any more when he does it.

 _What's it like to be born fully-formed,_ he's wanted to ask her, but he's smart enough to know that it's the only thing she's ever known. He knows it because it's in Szilard's memories and he can pull _those_ out of his hat and relive them any old time he wants. But he made a pact with himself that very first night, when he asked her to tell him her name even though he already knew it: he likes to hear these things in _her_ words. It's so much more fun, and he's a sucker for the sound of her voice.

Even after almost forty-six years, he's still a sucker for it. But just like he's patient with her insistence on being the one to drive them everywhere, he's patient with her stories or lack thereof, and with her equally stubborn and in no way seemingly unrealistic insistence that she doesn't understand affection enough to be affectionate. Of course that's all hogwash: in her own way, Ennis is as affectionate as anyone. She walks around hand-in-hand with Czes and takes good care of him like a sister should, even though he doesn't really need it but they all have a part to play to keep up the ruse that's become their lives. And when the two of them step out in the evening she'll take his arm and smile at him, but he gets what she's saying. She has the trappings of it down, but somewhere in there, she's still exploring what it means to be allowed to have feelings.

Just that idea gives him pause: to be _allowed_ to have feelings. She wasn't built that way, but she's learning. So what if it's a slow process? Here and now, the look she gives him is pure skepticism. "Who picked this as a meeting place? Isaac and Miria?"

"Nah, I did." There's an atmosphere to these things and while the rides have changed over the years and they've had no shortage of experiences, he still can't help but have a healthy appreciation for a good carnival. They all have something dank and dark bubbling just beneath the surface, something that doesn't quite match the gaiety of the bright lights and random music and laughter and thrills, and that appeals to him and always has. "They have the water race game if you're feelin' lucky."

That's a dirty trick and he knows it: that one's her favorite. Her hand's so steady she just about always wins it and wins it big, and as Czes goes off to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl (she won't ride it, she says there can't possibly be _any_ thrill in getting dizzy enough to puke her guts out and he can't blame her for that), Ennis reaches for _his_ hand and tugs him off in the direction of the game. This time they get to shoot water into the open mouths of monkeys, and it delights her so much when he sneezes and accidentally gets water all over the guy running the game that she lets out a real -- and rare, for her -- laugh. Yeah, she covers it up, her hand over her mouth, her composure regained like it never even happened, but when she wins she wins big.

"I'm sure Czes is tired of stuffed animals by now." Arm in arm, they wait for her little but not younger brother to come back with his cotton candy (she watched that machine spin sugar into a web so fine it's almost lighter than air for an hour and a half the first time she saw one). "I know, Firo. This time, _you_ take it. You've always been half puppy-dog anyway." She presses the ugly over-sized collection of thread and fake fur into his hand.

"You think?" The idea tickles him someplace deep inside.

"I do." The kiss she places on his cheek is almost impulsive. Beneath it, he grins the most private grin he's got. It's like he told Maiza all those years ago: these things take time, but everything good is worth the wait.

» _Addendum: Human beings talk a great deal about love. Free love, making love -- is this something that can be created? -- what it means to love, how to be a good lover. In a multitude of ways I am such a fledgling at even trying to understand this topic. I'm over-analytical but that is how I was made. In order to learn things I first have to experience them, and in order to experience them properly I first have to learn how to do them. That conundrum might be the cruelest thing Szilard ever did to me. Yes, he made me, but he made me incomplete. He did it on purpose. If he had made me whole, I would be less useful._

 _Firo knows everything that Szilard knew. The two men are markedly different. Even after all this time, I marvel at Firo's patience and kindness. I think the most appropriate word for the way he treats me is "indulgently." That has taken a lot of getting used to. But I like his warmth and I like his smile, and when he turns my way I sometimes catch a glimmer of something in his eyes. I don't know what it is or might be in scientific terms and I can't fathom why it fills me with a combination of anticipation and impatience. Will I ever understand?_

***

 **Disney California Adventure, 2002**

"Soarin' Over California. You're going to put me on a ride called Soarin' Over California. Why: aren't the streets of such a large state good enough to drive?"

With a laugh, he takes Ennis by the arm and ushers her into her seat. It's just the two of them this time, what with Czes off with Uncle Isaac and Aunt Miria across the street at Magic Kingdom. Nah, he ain't into that little kid stuff, but this... this ought to be fun. Somethin' new, somethin' different. "Come on. You'll see. It's all they've been talkin' about on the news for months now. They say it gives you the experience of flyin', and who hasn't wanted to know what that's like?"

Maybe Ennis. He likes to think he knows her pretty good and on a lot of different levels, but the girl keeps surprising him, week after week, year after year. She's stubborn, but she's inquisitive and even more of a sponge for learning than he's ever been. Of course, he was handed a lot of knowledge in a short amount of time, but it doesn't make him go around acting like he knows everything. A lot of people over the years have told him if they knew what Quates knew, they would have taken that knowledge and done something with it. Something big, something important. Then they look at him like he's a waste of space, but he doesn't mind in the least.

He knows better. He knows better than to make the same mistakes Szilard made, and he knows by now that having all the time in the world means he's got all the time in the world. There ain't no need to rush a single thing.

In the darkness, the ride starts and the tourists ooh and aah. It ain't like any roller coaster he's ever been on, and it ain't like any roller coaster _Ennis_ has ever been on, but it's great. It really does feel like they're flying, and in the darkness, he glances over at the girl he's crazy about to see a smile of wonderment plastered all over her perfect and eternally-young face. It isn't until he turns back to face the ride that he feels her hand in his, sudden and unbidden, and when the ride dips and turns she squeezes his hand tight and this little amazed sigh shaped like a perfectly round "o" escapes her lips. For the rest of the ride, the whole four and a half minutes of it, she's got a grip on his hand and when it's over and they meet the ground gently, she doesn't let go.

"Pretty neat, huh?" He can feel the grin on his own face. "What'd you think?"

There's a mischievous light in her eyes and it makes her look like she's had the best day of her life. "I think... out of the one thousand three hundred twenty-one thrill rides you've taken me on since we've known each other that this is my favorite. I loved it." Her hand tightens on his. "I _loved_ it."

Like she's just caught herself doing something she didn't know she could, her eyes widen. "Firo. I loved it. I loved it. I _loved_ it." Following the crowd out of the building, she repeats _I loved it_ like the concept is brand new to her and maybe it is. Maybe that's exactly how she feels, and he's thrilled for her. Thrilled. But there's somethin' else goin' on inside her, he can see it working. It's like some switch got flipped, and she either can't figure out how to turn it off or doesn't _want_ to turn it off. She looks awful happy.

"I'm glad, Ennis. Real glad. You want to go again?"

"Yes." Her answer's immediate, emphatic, and leaves no room for doubt. "Will you marry me?"

Like time just got dipped in rich dark molasses, he stops moving. Ain't he been askin' her that same question every year for almost seventy years now? Now he's the one whose eyes widen; now _he's_ the one filled with this unreal sense of wonder. Taking both her hands in his, he flashes her a grin filled with the memories of all seventy of their years together and no one else can see those. No one but Ennis knows: to outsiders, they just look like a pair of kids and he likes it that way. They have a secret, the two of them, and it just got a whole lot bigger than it ever was before.

"Yeah. You bet." Make that two wide-eyed, happy-in-love kids who just -- finally -- got themselves engaged. "Vegas ain't that far."

Still grinning, Ennis pulls him out of line, car keys already in hand. "I'll drive."

(Some things never change.)


End file.
